


dreams we hold in the palm of our hands

by missveils (Missveils)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, M!Handers, M/M, Nightmares, Parenthood, Trans Hawke (Dragon Age), handers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23635084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missveils/pseuds/missveils
Summary: Some nights he wakes up from a nightmare where his daughter is pulled from his arms, where she grows up within cold stone walls and never knows her own name. Where she never remembers the face of her parents. Where Hawke never sings to her again.
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke
Kudos: 15
Collections: Dragon Age Den fic collection





	dreams we hold in the palm of our hands

A woman gave birth to a baby in Kinloch hold, just after everyone had drifted off to sleep. An apprentice who had been woken by her pained whimpers pulled him out of bed. Almost a dozen mages stood around them, holding her hands, watching the doors, trying to keep her as quiet as possible, as Anders helped her deliver the baby as painlessly as possible. 

She did not sleep that night, no matter how exhausted she was. Just before sunrise, she was still sitting on the bed, her newborn on her chest, singing in orlesian. Anders does not recall her ever speaking the language before or after that night. 

When the sun finally came up and the templars took the baby from her, she kept repeating her name over and over again as they held her back.

“Her name is Lisette! She is called Lisette! Please let her know!”

Anders wishes he could remember the mother’s name. But he still remembers the name of the baby. Sometimes he wonders if he is the only person in Thedas to know the name. 

Just a few weeks later, she refused to undergo the Harrowing. And she never sang again. 

Some nights he wakes up from a nightmare where his daughter is pulled from his arms, where she grows up within cold stone walls and never knows her own name. Where she never remembers the face of her parents. Where Hawke never sings to her again. 

But he opens his eyes and his arms are still carefully wrapped around the baby. And Hawke’s around his, sleeping soundly. 

And even in this quietness, Justice lets him know that while he is in a warm bed, listening to the early morning birds and the rhythmic breathing of Hawke and their child, some children have grown up in cold towers, never to know their parents. Some parents will have carried on, hands and hearts empty. 

But then she opens her eyes, quietly, without crying. Light brown eyes looking up at light brown eyes. And all these thoughts leave his mind, as he runs his fingers through her curly locks, her nose, the flowers embroidered in the cover she is wrapped in.

“Your name is Lysandra,” he whispers to her like it’s a secret. “Your fathers’ names are Hyacinth and Anders. And you are Lysandra. Your name is Lysandra…”

**Author's Note:**

> Hyacinth Hawke belongs to @littlegumshoe (on Tumblr)


End file.
